


Secrets to Reveal

by AbAbsurdo



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24543232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbAbsurdo/pseuds/AbAbsurdo
Summary: Richard sees Thomas' scars and wants to know about them. Through the physical ones, he gets to understand the emotional ones that cut deeper.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 5
Kudos: 113





	Secrets to Reveal

  
_“Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as a secret to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.”_  
Leonard Cohen, _The Favorite Game_

  
1932

  
Thomas shivers next to him. His temperature rises higher instead of getting back to normal. He burns like coals in his arms. “He needs to sweat it off," the doctor advised after he administered the medicine and left more for Richard to give to his ailing partner every four hours. He promised to return first thing in the morning to check on his patient. 

  
The stubborn man had been feeling under the weather for days but refused to take any precaution. He kept working on his garden until late at night, going to work in the morning, letting the Crawleys run him to the ground, sacrificing his health. 

  
Because it is the one thing he knows to do well, Thomas has often told him.

  
Richard pushes the sweaty locks from the hot forehead and places a cool, wet cloth on it to suck away the fever. “You’ll be OK, sweetheart,” he murmurs. He smiles on his own folly. Thomas doesn’t hear him, but he imagines him rolling his eyes, but looking down in an attempt to hide his abashed, shy smile he fell in love with the very first time he saw it.

  
He shudders remembering how he got home to find Thomas lying on the ground, among freshly watered flowers, having fainted from exhaustion or sickness. He can’t remember how he carried him on their room and changed him from the wet, cold clothes before he called the doctor. 

  
Keeping the necessary distance when his life partner who does not have any contact with reality, just lies there letting the doctor examine him without the usual protest is unnerving. It scares Richard. Thomas would laugh at his usually unflappable mate; he is certain of it. As it is, he dips the second cloth to the basin with the cool water and vinegar and exchanges it for the already hot by Thomas’ fever one. 

  
And repeats the act for the next half an hour. He vaguely considers the idea of informing Ms. Hughes of Thomas’ illness. The thought goes away as easily as it came when his gaze returns to his lover’s pale face. 

  
Thomas is always pale. Always. 

  
His usual colour is nothing like this sickly white. Even the rose on his cheeks and the read on his lips, as typical as it is, makes the ashen complexion stand out instead of merging with it. 

  
Later, he won’t be able to tell how the time passed. As the night falls, he finds himself lying next to Thomas, pulling the heavy but unresisting body in his arms. He tucks the blankets firmly around the still sleeping man, and nuzzles against the sweaty neck, right under Thomas’ ear where he knows there’s a scar from old scratches. 

  
He has never asked Thomas about it and promises to himself it will be one of the first things he’ll do when Thomas is coherent enough to reply. 

  
*

  
“It was a tiny kitten, a month or so, maybe less old. Its mother had found her way inside the house and a drawer Ma kept the tablecloths. Uncle John had come that day and she told me to go take one. Why are you laughing?”

  
Richard doesn’t even try to cover his widening smile. “I can just imagine you taking the tablecloth and setting the table, the determination on… how old were you? Your small face. I wish I had a photo of you as a child.”

  
“I doubt there were any. And even if there were, I don’t think they kept them.”

  
Richard watches carefully Thomas looking down, hiding his eyes from him for a few moments. Hiding the pain Richard knows it’s there, in the expressive eyes he learnt to love. 

  
“Long story short, I took it in my hands to pet it, its mom saw me and rushed to save her baby”, he sighed. His Mom never did. Richard moves from where he is sitting on a chair next to the bed and ends up reclining inches away from Thomas. “Maybe she thought I was going to hurt it.” His accent becomes more pronounced with each word. “Maybe she was right,” he adds as an afterthought.

  
Not for the first time, certainly not the last, Richard knows the mental aches have scarred Thomas’ soul deeper than any physical one.

  
“You’d have taken excellent care of it,” he whispers to him, bumping Thomas’ undershirt clad shoulder with his forehead. 

  
“You don’t know that. Maybe I’d have had cruelly break his little legs and burn his soft fur.” Even as he listens to the words, Richards feels Thomas trembling at the idea. “That’s what my Da thought I’d do.”

  
_Good Lord!_

  
“How did it scar? If you were as young as I think you were it should have healed nicely.”

  
“It got infected. Da believed it was nothing serious. The ear bleeds a lot, he said. My Mom cleaned it as well as she could, but she couldn’t do much. She did take me to the doctor when it didn’t heal on its own.” Thomas’s fingers have found a loose thread on the blanket and keep picking at it. Richard watches the long fingers manipulating the thread in different ways, swallowing the lump in his throat.

  
He’s scared to ask what happened to the cats. He’s even more afraid to ask what happened to Thomas afterwards. The titbits he has gotten over the years are enough. He takes everything Thomas is willing to share and hopes to never make any mistake Thomas will have to pay.

  
“Hey!” Thomas is looking straight at his face, affection clear and in contrast to ice of his grey eyes. “Are you alright?” 

  
“You sound exhausted.”

  
“And you’ve been taking care of me for three days.” There’s that smile again, self-conscious and shy, and Richard falls just a little bit more in love. 

  
In a repeat of his actions three night earlier, he wraps his arms around a healthier Thomas and nuzzles at his throat again.

  
“We’ll get you a cat.”

  
” Who needs a cat when you purr like one? After all, we have Dick. He’s going to eat it alive.”

  
“Dick’s a good dog. He’d look after a tabby.”

  
The sound of Thomas’ laughter is a balm for his soul. “Right.”

  
Richard kisses the warm skin beneath his mouth. “Get some sleep.” 

1928

  
The first hint of light awakens Richard. It’s been like this since he was a child in their little home in Yorkshire. Even now, thirty years later and in holidays for the first time in the last eight years, his system is accustomed to waking up in dawn. He reaches over to pull Thomas closer to him. He encounters cloth, a lot of it. It doesn’t stop him from opening his eyes to see Thomas lying on his side, hair on a disarray, just like as Richard likes it, fluffy and soft. Sleeping, Thomas looks his real age, even a bit younger instead of the well-respected butler of the Downton Abbey, grey hair aside. 

  
Richard’s heart swells with love for the man sleeping next to him. It was a sudden, unexpected, and precious feeling meant to be cherished just like the man himself. Despite their earlier banter, or maybe because of it, Thomas’ affection was a gift to be treasured. 

  
And Richard plans to treasure it with all his being.

  
Sharing a bed for the first time after a whole year of knowing each other is not an action Richard has made a habit of in the past. Thomas Barrow is special though and if it took three meetings to bring them here, who is Richard to complain?

  
“You think too loud. Stop it. You are unsettling my sleep.” 

  
That voice! Roughened up by sleep, the Manchester accent even more pronounced awakes other parts of Richard’s anatomy that right now they better stay sleepy. 

  
He leans over brushing his lips over Thomas’, pouting even in sleepiness, mouth. The smile is unembarrassed, sincere, and utterly beautiful. “I’m tired. Go back to sleep.” 

  
Even a glimpse of the dark grey eyes -a colour that reminds him of the Atlantic on a rather cold winter day- distracts him from the question he wanted to make. He takes one of Thomas hands in his, the wrist and half the palm covered by the long sleeved pajama shirt his lover wore sometime in the night and brings it to his mouth, keeping it under his jaw as he follows Thomas’ lead to sleep. 

  
The next time he awakens, he is alone in the bed with his wayward lover nowhere to be found. A thought still tries to push through his defenses, like the rain drops through the tiny holes of the ceiling of his room in his paternal home he’s meant to mend for the last couple of years. 

  
Why did Thomas put his clothes on?

  
Richard hastens to get dressed to go search for his lover. He stifles the first signs of panic as best as he can. Thomas would not leave. Surely. He wouldn’t leave him alone. Not now. Not when Richard got attached to him.

  
He sighs in relief when he sees him sitting by the sea, trouser legs rolled up, leaning back down resting on his elbows. “You will never leave me alone like this,” Richard is surprised by the desperate possessiveness of his own voice, as he lowers himself to sit next to him. 

  
The vindictive part of his personality usually hidden under charm appreciates Thomas’ jump of startle. “You surprised me. I thought you were still sleeping,” Thomas explains bending his upper body forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

  
“I woke up and you weren’t there.”

  
“Sorry. I didn’t think it would worry you. I wanted to think. Nothing clears the mind as the crisp morning air and the sound of the sea.”

  
Richard swallows an angry retort, captivated by Thomas’ beautiful face. Sometimes, he wishes he could stay angry, show this man the ugly parts of himself, make sure Thomas would stay by his side even then. A look at those eyes instinctually reminds him that Thomas has seen and lived through enough ugliness. “That’s alright.” He inhales deeply and edges closer to Thomas, close enough to take in Thomas’ clean scent, a mixture of soap and crispness. “You are obsessive with cleanliness, aren’t you?”

  
“You’d been in the trenches. The smell doesn’t go away, you can never be clean enough. The dirt, mud, blood and everything else…” Thomas shudders as his mind travels in the past. He’s right. Of course, he’s right and Richard moves to sit behind him, bracketing him between his thighs, pulling the lean body back to rest against his chest, hoping to never lose Thomas’ trust. To never do anything to do lose Thomas’ trust.

  
He leaned over, his nose deep in Thomas’ citrus smelling hair. “You are cuddly today.”

  
“Hush. I’m always cuddly. Your hair is a wonder and will never understand your fixation on slicking it back.”

  
“It used to make me look older when I wanted to look older. Then, it became a habit. Like every other thing in life, Richard.”

  
He wonders if Thomas expect an answer and decides against giving one. 

  
“I know you wonder,” Thomas says, as if continuing an old discussion. “Let me clue you in by telling you a story. Be clad you didn’t meet me when I was younger. I hated everyone and everything, the world and everyone in it. Those who had it better than me in life, and those who had it worse. The first because… well, it is self-evident, no? And the latter because I could have been in their place. Again. And I hated myself more than anyone else.” Thomas takes a ragged and Richard tightens his hold. He so wishes to tell him to take him time. He remains silent. 

  
“It wasn’t because I was different. I didn’t hate myself for that. I hated me because of what the world made of me because of that. God, when I knew I couldn’t, I could never have what I wanted, when this wretched world would never let me have what everyone else find in abundance, this thing here, your arms around me, your nose in my hair and your hand in mine, simple things, a companion, someone to love and to love me, I lost it. I lost reason, Richard.” 

  
He removes his hand from where he was holding Richard’s and with slow, careful movements he takes off his cufflink, and methodically rolls his sleeve. By now, Richard knows what he’s going to see. Damn his curiosity. Damn Thomas for knowing what is inside his head.

  
When Thomas begins talking again, Richard eyes are closed. He doesn’t want to see any more. “It was 1925. The Abbey had no opening for an under butler, or another valet, or me, I’d say. It was difficult to find a job. I thought everyone was looking at me suspiciously. I had no friends, I had no hope, I had no life. I thought I had no reason.” 

  
Eyes still closed, Richard fumbles to take Thomas hand in his and when he manages it he brings it to his mouth kissing the inside of his wrist. He feels the pulse point, the blood running through the vein, the heart beating through the scar Richard feels on his tender lips. 

  
Thomas turns in his arms; Richard knows he’s looking at him. 

  
“Slowly, I learnt again to be satisfied with myself. To be enough for me.” Richard feels Thomas breathing. “If I were enough for myself I one day would be enough for someone else too. And if I weren’t, I’d be content still. It took a knife edge.

  
And here I am now.” 

  
Richard listens to the smile in his voice.

  
“Thank you.”

1927

  
The moment he closes the door behind him, Richard wants to open it and go find Mr. Barrow’s room. He wonders if he’s going to find him still dressed or removing his clothes. Does he sleep in pajamas or wearing less? He shakes his head. Thomas Barrow is the butler, he’s got to be ready for any disturbance during the night, he can imagine him always respectable, ready to take lead during the difficult hours. 

  
It is fun to think of him sleeping in the nude though.

  
He cannot rest. He cannot sit down and fall asleep to prepare himself for the journey back home. Restless like a kid on Christmas Eve.

  
He knows where Barrow’s room is. He can find it even in the dark. He has learnt to be as silent as a cat if he wants a couple of moments of peaceful enjoyment. Getting caught is not an option for the others, much less for him. Sooner than he expects, he finds himself in front of Thomas’ door. He knocks as light as he can and hopes the man inside haven’t slept already or he won’t listen to him. And the late-night trip to the Downton Abbey corridors would be for nothing.

  
It’s not for nothing. A fully clothed Thomas Barrow opens the door, a robe tightly wrapped around his long body. “Mr. Ellis?” The raised eyebrow is not different to the one he’s seen of Mr. Carson, and Richard smiles. 

  
“May I come in?”

  
A suspicious look passes through the expressive eyes Richard couldn’t take enough. A blink and it’s gone. Thomas moves aside and let him pass through him in his sanctuary. Richard wonders if he misjudged the situation. 

  
“It’s been a full day, Mr. Ellis. Went for a drink, a dance, got arrested, got released. If you weren’t responsible for the last, I’d have left you outside the door waiting.”  
“You haven’t slept yet.”

  
“Everything came back and brought worries with them. Have a seat.” Thomas nods on an uncomfortable looking chair next to the bed where he sits himself. “What can I do for you? Should we go to the hall for a cup of tea?”

  
Richard sees his left hand in unclothed, the familiar by now leather glove that covers Thomas’ palm is missing. Seeing the man in his sleep wear felt a smaller intrusion that this. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I wanted to see you.”

  
Thomas looks down and attempts to hide a shy smile. “It’s not safe to be here. With me.”

  
It is like this. Two male friends can sit together, drink and talk to the small hours of the night but knowing Thomas’ orientation even an innocent talk can and will be misapprehended. Despite the respect the man enjoys here, he’s not free.

  
“We are a scandal awaiting to happen, Mr. Ellis. And I have had enough scandals to last for a lifetime.” His right thumb runs nervous circles around the palm of his left hand and Richard cannot take his eyes off the repeated, enchanting movement. Thomas’ fingers are long and elegant. “We’ve only just met, Mr. Ellis, and I’m thankful for you, but we don’t know each other, our pasts.

  
“I’m not proposing marriage, Mr. Barrow.” Lightening the mood with a joke is not the right way to go if Barrow’s expression was anything to go by. “I mean…”

  
“I know what you mean, Mr. Ellis. It’s not as if you could even if you wanted to propose.”

  
Richard watches Thomas swallow hard. Thomas stands up rubbing the back of his head. He opens a drawer, fumbles inside it with his right hand until he finds what he needs and takes it with him by the window. He opens the window and leans against the windowsill, half sitting on it. Richard watches mesmerised Thomas lighting a cigarette. Time slows down when he sets it between his lips and inhales. The smoke he exhales giving him an otherworldly background that seems to accentuate his beautiful features, the paleness of his skin dominating the otherwise dark tableaux.

  
It is almost an erotic experience watching Thomas smoking, until the man’s voice interrupts his enjoyment. “So what do you want, Mr. Ellis? What brought you to my room at his hour?” 

  
In the absence of any deceitful justification, Richard opts for the truth. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I didn’t want to let the night go to waste.” 

  
Thomas ashes the cigarette, spits on it and throws it out of the window. He looks around, takes a glass of water, sips and spits it outside as well. He then closes the window and looks at Richard. “I don’t smoke in here.” He returns to his spot on the bed and sits on it. “To be honest, I try not to smoke these days.” He takes his left hand on his right and rubs the palm. “What did you have in mind,” he asks Richard piercing him with his icy eyes.

  
Uncertainty gnaws his mind. For the first time, Richard doesn’t know if he should tell the truth or not. What can he say? I came for a tumble into bed with you. The way Thomas stares at him, he is certain he’ll throw him out if he admits the truth. How did things go so bad? Or maybe he miscalculated from the start. 

  
“If you had come yesterday, maybe you wouldn’t have wasted your time. Today? Today was a repeat of my past spontaneity burning and crushing in the most humiliating way possible. You can stay and we can talk and share our secrets and wants and that for me, at this hour, it’s not a waste of time. Anything else is.”

  
Richard gets up from the chair and marches to the bed. “Scoot over.” Thomas edges to the right and leans against the pillows on his back. Richard sits next to him and becomes comfortable. And then turns to look at him. “So, talk,” he teased him.

  
“What do you want to know?’

  
Richard reaches over and takes Thomas hand in his. He feels him stiffening beneath his touch, but he realized a few minutes back that Thomas will talk about physical scars easier than emotional scars. And if it takes the first to conquer the latter, Richard will be stay there and offer his sympathy.

  
“It was in the war….” 

  
That’s how he finds himself lying next to Thomas Barrow awake while the other man nods off, head on Richard’s shoulder, scarred hand in Richard’s hand and the night has not been wasted. He wonders if he’d want to meet the complicated bitter, young man who hated the world and everyone in it, but found himself fighting for it seeing every horror imaginable and was brave enough or coward enough to mutilate his own hand to get away from them. He knows he’s gifted that he met the older, wiser, and less hateful version of the boy.

  
Richard is enthralled by the complicated, grumpy, respected, mysterious man and he’s certain he’s not giving up on him any time soon.


End file.
